The Woodsman's Baby

by Eddie Cleveland

  This time, I manage to get my feet under me a little more sturdily and step out of the tub carefully, so I don’t slip and crack my head on the floor. I pluck the thick, plush towel from the side of the hot tub and carefully pat myself dry before wrapping it around me. Grabbing my phone from the ledge, I walk over to the door of the chalet. I stare out the window, but don’t see any sign of my stepsister, sorry, my foster sister, or my fiancé. God, I hope they haven’t passed out or something. I’d hate having to get Tom and Stacey to help me drag them in here.

  Placing my dry feet in my fur-lined boots, I yank open the door and brave the cold to take a quick peek around the property for them.

  Brrr. A shiver runs down my spine and I tighten the towel around me as I walk faster past the wood shed. I stop in my tracks. What is that?

  I swear I can hear a chipmunk chattering, but when I look around I don’t see anything. I know it’s not my imagination though, it’s actually getting louder as I step quietly toward the wood supply. My gut sinks as I start to make sense of what that noise could be in my drunken mind. I walk through the snow, behind the woodshed and stop dead in my tracks.

  Ben is standing behind Kate, her bikini bottoms around her ankles and his trunks pulled down to his thighs. He’s fucking her like a wild animal, fast, forcefully, from behind. Her chipmunk chatter fills the air, “That’s right, just like that. Fuck me, Ben. Deeper.” She doesn’t notice me. Neither of them do. Standing in the snow, watching my fiancé fuck my foster sister, like a fucking idiot.

  “I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” I scream, tears welling up in my eyes. I turn on my heel and do my best to run in a straight line, back up to the cabin.

  “Ahhh, shit. Ashley! Wait!” I hear Ben call after me.

  “No, just finish. We can get her later,” I hear Kate say.

  That bitch.

  That pig.

  Fuck them.

  I make my way to the door and stumble inside. I look around the cabin frantically. I can’t stay here. I can’t be under the same roof as my cheating fiancé and the girl I’ve thought of as a sister for eight years. I can’t sleep here, like a fool, supposedly celebrating an engagement that’s a fucking lie.

  I race across the floor, banging my hip into the dining room table. “Fuck!” I yell angrily. I grab my black fur coat and fuzzy winter hat. Throwing my phone in the pocket, I quickly button it up to my neck. “Fuck this! Fuck them!” The tears rain down my face in a downpour. I knew I wasn’t good enough for him.

  For any of them.

  My vision is blurry as I run back out into the snow, quickly making my way to the treeline on the side of the property. I don’t have a plan. Not that a plan would help. I planned my life in excruciating detail to get to this pinnacle. To this moment. And all its led to is my humiliation.

  “Ashley! Wait!” I hear Ben call out behind me, but I don’t stop. I barrel forward down a trail, and let myself get swallowed by the darkness.

  I run until my lungs burn and my legs feel like Jell-O. I run until I can’t hear anything or see any signs of light besides the stars. Even then, I run further. Time blurs and my limbs cry out for mercy. Begging me to stop. Still, I run further. Faster. Trying to escape my shame. Trying to put distance between me and the betrayal I just witnessed.

  I look around. Somehow, I’ve managed to get off the trail I thought I was following. When did that happen? A shiver washes over me, taking over control of my muscles. I push through the underbrush, slogging forward in the crunchy snow. I don’t care. I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t even want to live if my entire life, if everything I’ve spent years building, is all a lie.

  The image of Ben fucking Kate with his pencil dick attacks my mind and fresh tears fill my eyes. Fuck them.

  “Arrgghh!” My boot catches on something under the snow and I fall face down into the cold, soft blanket of white. I roll over and try to sit back up, but don’t have the strength. My thoughts cloud over and the sky spins above me, blurring into a cascade of shooting stars from the tears in my eyes. I can feel myself letting go, my body sinks into the snow and my eyelids close.

  I’m so tired. I just need a nap. Maybe this is already a dream and I just need to wake up. The thought is fleeting, as is my will to move. I close my eyes and feel myself fall off the edge as the world goes black.

  4

  Sawyer

  The wind blasts me with punishing, arctic air. It’s so cold that I stop in my tracks as the exposed skin on my cheeks burns. I wipe my gloved hand through my beard and little icicles, miniature versions of the ones back home clinging to my cabin roof, sheer off.

  There’s a storm coming. No doubt about it. After three winters in the woods, it’s not hard to tell what weather is rolling in. I’ve learned how to pay attention to the changing clouds. I can tell when a sunny summer day is going to transform into a hot storm. I know when the frosty air is bringing snow squalls. Too bad I never learned to get my ass into town quicker when I needed supplies.

  I should’ve made this trip at least a week ago. Every morning I woke up telling myself that I’d head out, and every night I laid my head on my pillow with the dread of facing the world still eating at my gut. It took being down to the bare minimum, just like it always does, before I slung this toboggan rope over my shoulders, strapped these snowshoes to my feet and started the three-day journey out of the wilderness.

  Wilderness.

  I snort at the word and pull my glove off with my teeth. Why do they call it that, huh? Unzipping my parka, I reach inside until my fingers graze the cool metal hiding in my chest pocket. I suppose it’s because that’s where the wild life lives, I’m no scholar, but that’s my best guess. The silver metal flask is warm against my numb hand and I quickly unscrew the lid and take a long swig of my moonshine.

  “Pffft,” I wipe the burning liquor from my lips and squirrel away my flask, “there isn’t an animal alive that’s more wild than the people out there.” I squint my eyes and can see the lights of the city off in the distance disrupting the stunning stars. “Fucking savages.”

  Tugging my glove back on, I adjust my hat and scarf, preparing for the last leg of my hike into town. Supplies don’t just show up when you live out in the woods. It’s not like I can just sign onto my non-existent computer and get them delivered by Amazon. Not that I’d ever want to.

  Instead, I make four trips a year into Mountain Village to pick up what I can’t grow or hunt myself. It’s not ideal, if I had it my way, I’d never go back. However, not going back because you’re happy and living off the land is not the same as not going back because your dead from being too stupid to get supplies.

  I might be stubborn, but I’m not stupid.

  Reluctantly, I knock the layer of ice from the top of my beavertail snowshoes and grab my rope.

  This would be a lot easier with a Skidoo. It’s a hell of a haul to trudge through the forest for three days lugging a sled behind me. But Skidoo’s need gas, maintenance, time, money. Not like this. All I need is two feet and a heartbeat to get where I’m going. That suits me just fine.

  Enough standing around. Time is a wasting.

  Snap! Thump!

  What the hell? I drop my sled rope and turn around, peering through the darkness. That wasn’t a raccoon or skunk. It was too loud. Too heavy. My eyes are adjusted perfectly to the darkness, but I don’t see anything. Not that I would if a bobcat was stalking me. I crouch down and tilt my head, listening intently.

  Crunch, crunch, thump, snap!

  That’s no bobcat. Shit. I hop up and dart over to my toboggan and grab my rifle. In the distance, I can see a black bear trampling erratically on its hind legs. It’s crashing all over the place, flinging itself forward. Damn it! Why is it walking like that? Does it have rabies? Just what I need.

  I raise my gun and stare down the barrel, locking the bear into my sight.

  “Arrrghh!”

  It’s gone. I didn’t drop it. I look around suspiciously, is ther
e another hunter out here? I didn’t hear a shot.

  With my gun still ready to shoot, I trek through the woods to where I watched the bear disappear. I listen for its cries, for its heavy breathing, for anything. Not a sound.

  Another polar vortex rips through the evergreens and painfully attacks the little skin I have exposed. I turn my back into the gust, protecting my face from the threat of frostbite. Once it dies down, I lift my gun and slowly trudge over to the bear. It’s easy to see the outline now in the snow. I’m not sure what happened to it, but it’s not moving. It looks awfully small to be out on its own. From how lean it is, I’d expect it to have died of malnourishment. Just like I will if I don’t suck it up and get my ass into town for supplies.

  I start to turn back, satisfied that I’m not going to be shredded alive by a bear, when something catches my eye.

  Between the black furry body and paw, I see a creamy patch exposed. What is that? It takes longer than it should to realize that I’m not staring at a slumped over, malnourished bear, but a human. A woman. And her bare leg is carelessly laying exposed on the snow.

  Fuck.

  I don’t want anything to do with whatever this situation is. Yet, I can’t stop myself from closing the distance between us. The closer I get, the less sense it makes. Under her big, black hat I can see her features starting to come into focus.

  She’s young.

  I crunch through the crisp icy layer as I lumber closer.

  She’s pretty.

  I look around, straining my ears to listen for another person. Surely she’s not out here alone? There’s no noise. None except my own heartbeat rushing blood into my ears.

  Finally, I’m standing over her. It’s easy to see she’s passed out. From the smell of her, I’d say she’s drunk. Probably a lightweight judging by how tiny she is.

  Damn it! This isn’t my problem. This woman and whatever her issues are, aren’t mine to take on. But, I don’t budge. I don’t even blink. There’s no way I can just leave her here. It’s a death sentence. I might not want anything to do with her, but that doesn’t mean she deserves to freeze to death. Despite what people say, it’s not a great way to go.

  I hunch over her and rip my glove off my hand, holding my fingers under her nose. Warm air puffs over my hand. She’s breathing. That makes her my problem. Replacing my glove, I slide my hands under her arms and lift her into a sitting position. Her fur coat flops open, exposing more flesh than I expected to see. What kind of idiot runs off into the woods dressed like a bear and wearing nothing else but a bra and underwear?

  As I button her coat back up, I notice the jagged flecks of ice that have formed over her breasts. Wait, was her bra wet? Because now it’s frozen. Is she…is she wearing a bikini? A wet bikini?

  Idiot feels like a totally inadequate word for this level of stupid.

  I roll my eyes. There’s nothing I can do but try to keep the frost from damaging her milky skin. I easily lift her up and carry her over my shoulders like a dead deer and bring her back to my sled.

  I’ve got to get her warmed up. Fast. I can make a shelter here or I can take her back ten minutes to where I saw an old hunting cabin with a chimney, and get her next to a fire.

  Fire wins.

  I gently lie her down on the toboggan and take off my parka, placing it over her. Why on earth is this woman out here? Why is she dressed like this? What is she running from? I stare at her face and try not to notice her beautiful features.

  I’ll never find out anything if I don’t get her warm. I pry my eyes from her high cheekbones and full lips and yank the rope to my sled. I guess supplies will need to wait. Sighing, I plod back to my trail. Back to the empty cabin I passed. Back into the woods. There’s no question that if I don’t get this lady warmed up very soon she’s going to die of exposure.

  That’s a guilt I could never shake from my conscience. Her death is something I could never outrun. Unlike the deaths I struggle to leave behind in the city. The ones I disappeared off the grid over, this one would be my fault.

  5

  Sawyer

  My feet crack the sheet of crystal sparkling over the soft snow and I sink down until my knees are covered with every step. Giving the sled a huge tug, I pull the unconscious girl to the edge of the porch stairs before I bolt up them to the front door of the cabin.

  Of course, it’s locked. I fight my instinct to run at the door like a bull at a matador’s red flag. It won’t help keep either of us warm if I knock this thing off the hinges.

  I doubt an old, rickety shack like this has any kind of alarm system, but if it does, tearing the door off would definitely set it off. Not that alerting the authorities wouldn’t be a good thing.

  At least in theory.

  Clearly, any girl who would run into the snowy woods at night in a bikini and fur coat needs help. That’s a job for the police if I’ve ever heard of one.

  Then the media would pounce on the story like a pack of ravenous wolves. A shiver that has nothing to do with the frosty air runs down my spine. I can just see the headlines now. The online discussions. The distorted lies and twisted fantasies of man-children with no life experience turning my attempt to rescue this girl into something dark. Something sinister.

  My eyes scan the area for a telltale rock or sculpture hiding a key beneath it. However, this place isn’t a quaint little countryside cottage that a family lovingly comes to visit every summer. This is a rundown, likely abandoned, hunting camp that no amount of handy work or flattering pictures could improve. I try to open the window to the left of the door, but it won’t budge. It’s either frozen shut or locked.

  I remember when I was a kid, shopping with my mother at the grocery store for the few things she couldn’t pick up at her favorite markets, the magazines and news rags would always catch my eye at the checkout line. Weekly World News with its ridiculous headlines about ‘Bat Boy’ or aliens would make me roll my eyes and ignite my imagination at the same time. I always knew that the supposed scoops were bullshit. Everyone did. Yet, it stayed in business. People bought it.

  Now, you don’t have to go to your grocery store to find phony news. It’s on every Facebook page. It’s mixed in with your actual news, making it impossible to distinguish from the rest of the craziness in this world.

  My eyes come back into focus and I let my death grip on the edge of the window relax. Let it go, I remind myself as I draw a deep breath into my lungs. Right now, the only thing I need to worry about is the young woman on my toboggan who is going to freeze to death if I don’t help her. The rest of that shit, hell, the rest of the world, doesn’t matter right now.

  I try the window on the other side of the door and it has some give in it. With a lot of pushing and maneuvering, I manage to slide it open and crawl inside. I don’t bother to look around, there will be time to take the grand tour later. From the size of this place, I’m guessing it will take all of two seconds to get acquainted. Instead, I unbolt the door, jump down the porch stairs and lift the strange woman over my shoulder.

  Kicking the door shut behind me, I lay her on the dirty floor and pull my gloves off with my teeth, spitting them to the side. I lift her hand and check her fingers, they’re waxy and white. Not a good sign.

  I place my hand under her nose and feel her soft breath barely blow over my skin.

  Opening her large fur coat, I scowl at her insane choice of clothes. The complex crystal coating of ice over her creamy breasts and bikini top tell me that the swimwear has to go. I pull the string tied up around the back of her neck and reach behind her back, freeing her from the other loose knot. I clutch the cloth in my hand and it crackles as the ice breaks under my grip.

  I can’t for the life of me figure out why anyone would leave dressed like this. She must have been in danger. I would guess she fled for her life, choosing a possible death in the woods over a certain death that she faced. There’s no other logical explanation.

  I force myself to look away from her perky tits. Two l
ittle mountains begging to be claimed by the exploring lips of a man. Instead, I focus on her blue lips. Full, pouty and smeared with some kind of shimmering gloss, but still blue.

  Two fingers on the side of her neck tell me her pulse is as weak as her breathing. She’s hypothermic, there’s no doubt in my mind. The boozy smell escaping her pores tells me of her drinking. However, I have no way of knowing if she’s passed out from the alcohol or from the bitter cold. I’m no doctor. All I can do is try to warm her up the best way I know how.

  Standing up, I strip off my outer layers, shaking off my parka and lying it over the unconscious girl. I kick my boots off, sending them across the dark room and peel down my pants, stiff with ice next. Soon, my clothes are a pile on the floor and I’m shivering while standing naked over a beautiful yet strange woman.

  This isn’t how I wanted this trip to go. She might be stunning, but she can’t be too smart running off in the state she did. Besides, I’ve always preferred my companions to be conscious and enthusiastic about my nudity. Not in medical need of my warm skin for their survival.

  Lying down on her open coat next to her, I make quick work of removing her bottoms, tossing them on the towering pile of fabric next to me. I dart my eyes away from her barely-covered pussy. The dark hair between her legs hardly a shadow covering her mound.

  Instead, I pull her into me, lying her head on my chest and grab the edge of my parka, pulling it over us like a blanket. Once we’re both fully covered, I wrap my arms around her tucking her freezing hands into my armpits and pressing the ice blocks she has for feet between my thighs.

  I need to warm her slowly. If you thaw a person with hypothermia too quickly it can stop their heart. This is the best way I know how to do that. Skin-to-skin contact will bring up her body temperature at a safe rate.